Husband

I once had a husband who would stare

at things that looked a lot like things that

he would stare at. He was made of salt

and I would lick him until my teeth fell out.

We would spend the day panicked that another

like this one would come again and then sit

and watch TV and laugh and fall asleep and

wake up in different rooms, unsure of how

that happened. The stalking would surrender

to the brief moment when we knew, we just

knew, that the other one was out of love and

didn’t know how to say it, we said so little so

often. We would take trips to somewhere and

always find that somewhere else was better once

we got home. One day he plunged a knife into

the kitchen table and said, “I think you should be

more beautiful,” and I agreed, not wanting to

cause trouble. But the knife stood sticking

straight up, even after we packed up our things

and moved to someplace else. The knife still

stood straight up after we parted, and divvied

up our belongs.

                            I told him I wanted the kitchen

table, because that was what I wanted. And even

though it didn’t fit in my new home, I made it fit. 

Where Extremes Collide, My Desire Adheres.

thedillpickleseedsofthisshuttered

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And Here is Monday’s Romantic Notion: Digging as an Actual Positional Becoming.  The Thing about Anterior Desire: its just fucking Gross.  Falling Backwards Through the Face, Fracture, Facture, I Indenture.  i.e. “I Am Soomewhat (in) Matter” I want to Think that I can Practice (in) this.  I want to Feel that I will Waddle and Toil in this.  I want to Believe that I will Fail (in) this.  And I am so Desperate to Believe that my Failure will not be a Means to Surrender, but Rather: A Releasing of this in Me and in Me: a Releasing-Towards what isn’t, What will Never Be Me .  As if it Were Not to this (in) Be.  And As I Lay with my Fringes Fried in the Margins.  Desire is the Dupe that makes the Lock Unhinge from Which Pours in, a Disastrous Time in Anxious Frankness.   “Aye, I Hear that December Air Already Raking-In.” And Still: the ruin of Proving IF Ground. This is Eating and Eating and Preoccupied with its Eating.  And to Imbue an Offensive, yet Sweet Vocabulary. But Still I Find: I’m Slightly Light in the Loafers and Weak in the Proverbial Needs.  Actually: I Meant Knees.  After the Body, the Collapse Prevailed and What Ensued: The Palpitation’s Commission.   And Now, I Will Plan a Litany Constructed with the Loogie of Others. And I Thought to Say: I am So-Fucking Articulate.  And I Actually Said: All these Words Because I’m Missing your Skin. This Matter, Master, is Negotiable and Thusly: I’m Aroused.  In Regards to my Family, there is one Truth: the Italian Grudge and The Seethe Survives. For: Our Lives are so Jam-Packed with Desires, which by their very Insistence, Appear Endlessly Inevitable.  in other words: from the Knees the Face Droops to a Slackening-Dawn.  The Pigeon in Thick Air thumps that puff is my Love (in) there that is Bowing-Down to the Pearl, the Girl, Giving-It-All a Whirl, on Down, the Sweet-Sweet Ground.  For Never Forget: I am the Mine to Mine my Mine to Molest All that IS my Mine. 

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It Only Makes Sense That This Graceful Line Merits A Shy Circumcision

thatwhichiwilldrowninlightlikesilhouettes

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In a City: it is Customary to Offer every Body the Chance to State its Exalted Purpose, Before Tackling, and Taking-It-Down for the Count.  See: There is no-Nostalgia Permitted in this House. So: let’s take a Walk while Thinking (this) Backwards.  I am the Coveted Secret, that under the Sheets and Surface and Whitens the Widen.  It Seems My Body will Never Appear so Fucked again and this Appeases. It Only Makes Sense, that this Graceful Line Merits a Shy Circumcision. The Fleeting and Oh-So Dandelion-Puff of these Days.  And At-Least, I Can Die, Knowing that I Have Fondled your Dollhouse, Tucked under this Pillow.  And We Tell Ourselves: this is None and Ever (in) Sow.  My Face, to Yours: Disguised as a Shipyard, as a Sinister Buoy.  And She Had Said: She is Said.  To Remain, but Often, but Frozen, Within a Questionable Glance, Within a Theory of Distinct States of Disjunction. And in this: our Bodies, Might Tear-Away, Becoming Distinctly “But A Notion” that I Will Drown, with my Hands, in Light, like Silhouettes. The Body, the Exhaustion, the Intersection, the Cavity, the Sky, and the Desperation for a Plural Ending.  To Wash-Away the Memory, of my Dearest Friends.  I am Beginning, to See this, as a Process, of Tucking-In, what is Thought, what is Expelled, what Insists, to Examine all the Rest: the gulp, is the Face of a Glock, that Saves the Final Trigger for the Best Bitch in Class.  Funny: how I Caused all this, to be so Deceivingly Exact. And what I Have Strived for, is to Harbor every Heartless, every Calculated, yet Sincere thump of Will.  And Then: The City Man’s Amen.  So That: What We See, We Have-Seen.  And By You: I Have an Unhealthy and Rabid Desire for Composing the Composition of this Excessive Opposition to –Ad, -Positio’s Proposition.  in other words: I am all that ever Speaks in This. But Baby, I Got a Mouth that’ll Carve your Thigh Right-Into this Ceiling on the Fly

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